


lost and found

by hippocampers



Series: swipe right [2]
Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 03:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15404046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocampers/pseuds/hippocampers
Summary: “David has sent you a message.”Fuck.-Continuation of "swipe right" tinder!fic.





	lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second in a series. You should probably read "swipe right" first for this to make sense, but effectively Don has matched with David on tinder :)

The message is somewhat unexpected. He gets out of work and just about manages to grab the last seat – it’s alright, it’s not one of those ‘For those less able to stand’ ones – on the Tube. For a bit, it won’t connect to the on-train WiFi, but when it does, a little notification pops up at the top of the screen.

_“David has sent you a message.”_

Fuck.

 

_David: Hello, stranger._

_David: I’ll admit, I’m a little surprised to see you on this. I’m guessing it’s an accident?_

A lump finds its way to settle right in the middle of Don’s throat – inconvenient, really – and no matter how hard he swallows, it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. He opens the app, slower than he’d like to admit.

 

_Don: Not an accident - Dakin set me up on it. Thinks I’m lonely, the cheeky sod._

He taps send, and for a moment, regrets mentioning Dakin at all. He starts typing again, quicker this time.

 

_Don: But the matching with you wasn’t Dakin. That was all me._

There’s a “ping!” to indicate a reply before he even gets off the train.

 

_David: Good to know you’re a big boy who can work tinder on his own ;)_ _How have you been?_

-

The initial conversation is a little awkward, those getting-to-know-yous that always seem to come up when he meets old classmates. But David isn’t just any old classmate – once upon a time they’d been as good as best friends – and the conversation graduates into full flow with ease.

He tells David about Anna, and David tells him about the string of boyfriends he’s had in their time apart, each with varying levels of success. They talk about work, about college, about pets, and food, and all sorts of things. Don finds himself smiling at his phone more than once, which doesn’t escape the notice of those nearby.

“What’re you grinning at, Don?” Kathy from the desk over asks, chin resting on a bejewelled hand. “Watching dirty films on there?”

“Yes, and you’re interrupting,” Don replies mildly, tapping enter on his message to David and pointedly closing the phone. “Never you mind.”

Kathy laughs, returning to her own computer once more.

David asks only once about this newfound attraction to men. It’s oddly freeing to type out _Yes, I’m bi,_ Don finds. He’s been trying on the label for size since the day Dakin set up the profile, and now he’s finally typed it out, Don thinks it fits him just right.

He’s even more satisfied with David’s “ _Good to know!_ ” in reply – he had hoped not to make a fuss about it, ever the shrinking violet.

-

It’s David who suggests going out. Don is at home working on a new manuscript when the message comes through, and doesn’t answer the message immediately. It pings again, though, just fifteen minutes later, so Don opens the app to check.

_David: So I was wondering if you fancied going out for a drink? Or cake if that was more up your street :)_

Then, clearly in response to Don’s lack of one-

_David: But no pressure. I get it if it’s a bit soon._

 

Don taps out a reply so quickly his fingers cramp, eager to make sure David is not sitting at home thinking he’s made a mistake.

 

_Don: That sounds great :)_ _Name a place and I’ll be there. X  
_

Seconds later comes the familiar “ping!”.

 

_David: :) :) :) x  
_

 

-

The tearoom is just off Grosvenor Gardens, with tables outside covered in green plasticky tablecloths patterned with roses. There’s a toddler sitting with her father at one of them, mashing cake around her plate in glee as her father taps away at a laptop. Scripps smiles, waving at the little girl and chuckles as she waves back with an enthusiastic squeal. When he squeezes inside, it’s clear why David has chosen here to meet; it’s quiet, with a gentle jazz piano playing in the background. He spots David straight away, the smooth curve of his back familiar even now, despite it being disguised by a pale rose cardigan as opposed to the ever-oppressive navy Cutlers’ blazer. Scripps pretends not to notice the way his breath catches, weaving his way through the tables towards the very back of the shop. David spots him soon enough, glancing up from his book and giving Scripps a smile that fills him with an odd warmth.

“Scrippsy! Look at you!” David stands, his chair making a godawful screech as he shoves it back to move closer to Scripps and pull him into a hug. “Someone took up rowing at uni, hmm?” A slender hand lingers just a little on broad shoulders, before dropping back to David’s side. Scripps finds he misses it.

“Mm, didn’t quite keep it up when I graduated though, obviously,” Scripps chuckles, patting his slight belly as his cheeks turn pink. “You look…” _Stunning. Gorgeous. Older. Handsome._ “Good. I mean- Well. Healthy.” That rosy blush turns redder still. “How are you?”

“Alright – glad it’s half-term though, I can tell you,” David says, looking up at Scripps with laughter-lined eyes. It suits him, happiness. “Did you find it okay?”

“Uh- Yes. Took the Tube to Victoria and wandered about for a bit,” Scripps shrugs. “Um- Should we sit?” He makes to pull out David’s chair, flushing again as David sits.

“Ever the gentleman,” David laughs, sliding the book – _The Time-Traveller’s Wife,_ one Don is yet to peruse – into the satchel at his feet. “You can sit too, you know. They take your order at the table here.” He nods towards the chair opposite, and Scripps takes the hint. “So, how have you been? Writing this morning? I do hope I’ve not interrupted your creative flow.”

Scripps nods, scanning the menu the lithe waitress slides in front of him. “Yeah. But no worries about the creative flow; it’s been more of a creative dribble the past week or so,” he sighs. “What’re you having?” He redirects the conversation skilfully, far too used to avoiding discussions of his writings.

“The purple tea, I think,” David muses, chin resting on his hand.

“That sounds a bit… ominous.”

“Just because you can’t stand anything but English Breakfast and a digestive,” David grins. “I’m going to have a Vegan brownie as well, just to spite you.” He pokes his tongue out just so, reminiscent of childhood teasing and yet something _more_ , almost _flirty_. Scripps has to make himself swallow.

“I might have changed! I might be going for the Sencha green and a slice of beetroot cake for all you know.”

David chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope. You’ll have the English Breakfast and the fresh cream scone with apple jam, if I still know you. You never were good at trying new things.”

He’s exactly right, and a smile wins over Don’s face. “You’re far too perceptive, David Posner.”

“Not really. I just know you.” That teasing smile has softened into something gentler now, a fondness that Scripps can feel building within him, too. “I always have paid attention to you.”

Scripps opens his mouth to reply, fingers twitching atop the table to reach for David’s before the waitress his back, notebook in hand. David clears his throat as Scripps jolts his hand away. “Oh, ah- We’ll have the purple tea, an English breakfast, a Vegan brownie and the Victoria sponge,” he recites, pretending to read from the menu so as not to meet David’s eyes. “Thank you.”

The waitress wanders off, and David adjusts his glasses, the ghost of a blush gracing his cheekbones too.

“So.”

“So.” Don clears his throat nervously, chest suddenly tight. He glances at the toddler and her father through the window, watching as the little girl slops juice onto the table with little care. It does little to distract from the growing awkwardness as their reunion joviality dulls slightly. David clears his throat.

They are saved momentarily by the waitress returning with their drinks and cakes, a moment that Don seizes to slyly swipe his forehead and try to breathe. But then she’s gone again and there is no barrier between him and David’s perceptive blue eyes. He moves to speak, but again is beaten.

“It’s been a long time.” This is a statement rather than a question. When did David start being so sure of himself?

“It has,” Don agrees, a slight nod accompanying his words. “A bit too long perhaps.” David smiles too, a gesture that would once have been accompanied by the awkward duck of his head, but now holds firm on its own. He says nothing, though, deigning only to take a sip of his tea delicately. Guilt gnaws at Don’s stomach. “I should have looked for you-“

“No.” David shakes his head, raising the hand not holding tea to stop Don. “No, you shouldn’t.” He sets the tea down. “I didn’t want to be found.”

The joviality of mere moments ago has now been replaced by a solemnity that perhaps once would have frightened Don, but strangely doesn’t now. The silence returns as Don manages to drag his gaze upwards. David is unreadable – if he didn’t know better, Don would say he looked almost …pleading?

“And now?”

David tilts his head, just slightly. “Now I’m not lost. I haven’t been for a while.”

Don swallows again, nodding slowly. “Good. That’s—that’s really good.” He smiles and takes a sip of his own tea. “I’m pleased for you.

A chuckle bubbles from David’s lips. “So am I! It was bloody hard work.” Now comes the duck of his head; ever humble is David. The moment seems to hang in the air between them, shimmering softly. Don wants to reach out and grab it before it is gone. David seems to notice this wistfulness, and leans forward conspiratorially, solemnity gone – or at least masked. “Now. Tell me all about this woman of yours from before. Let me learn about the competition.”

-

The ease of their youth returns seamlessly, conversations picked up from where they were left off. The boy Don was once so fond of is still present, only stronger now, more sure of himself in a way that Don can’t deny he finds attractive.

Unless his romantic radar is painfully broken, David finds him attractive too – at least, that’s what Don is taking from the way he keeps leaning in and throwing coy glances across the table when he thinks Don isn’t looking. Once, he catches David smiling at his back when he’s standing to order another tea, the other quickly averting his gaze back to the tablecloth with pinkened cheeks when he has been caught.

They are so distracted, though, by conversation (and company) that it feels like mere minutes before the young waitress is apologetically ushering them out of the closing café, broom in hand.

Don glances at his watch, chuckling as he notices the time. “God, it’s almost 6.30. I should be getting back for dinner or the slow cooker will boil over.”

David laughs. “God forbid your beef stew be tarnished.” He rolls his eyes fondly. “I should head back too. I’m this way-“ he indicates behind him, the opposite direction to the Tube station. “-And only a minute or two, no need for you to walk me home,” he grins. Don is surprised to find himself a little disappointed.

“If you insist. But… I will next time?” He holds his breath. When David nibbles at his lip, he starts feeling nauseous. Before he can open his mouth to retract the comment though, a slender hand closes around his wrist. Don looks down at it, briefly, eyes snapping right back up to David’s face.

“Are you still lost, Scrippsy?” David says, voice soft. He’s peering at Don with an odd look in his eyes, a cocktail of concern and something akin to hope.

Don blinks. After a long moment, he takes a breath. Finally, the elastic wrapped up in his ribs snaps.

“You know, I don’t think I am anymore.”

And as relief floods those clearwater eyes, a smile upturning David’s pinkened lips, Don finds that he means it.

“Then we have much more to talk about. Same time next week then?”

Don beams. “Same time next week.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I vanished - life got in the way. But I did promise I would continue this, and I'm a woman of my word.


End file.
